


The new Kassandra

by Lumeha



Series: Ironstrange Bingo 2019 [5]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ... also there is a coffee shop that happens to be important ??, Alternative universe - Modern mythology, Curses, M/M, Stephen Strange is a son of Hekate, and Tony Stark is cursed by Apollo, i have no idea how to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 20:31:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18977836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeha/pseuds/Lumeha
Summary: “Your bloodline will be my new Kassandra, Howard Stark. Mind plagued by visions and prophecies of what is to come. My mad prophets, that no one believes in, until your price is paid. And you will not believe them, you will not hear the truth. No one will.”In a world where humans had to live with gods and faes and spirits, Tony Stark was plagued by visions of futures to come, and cursed by Apollo to never be believed. Until he met Stephen Strange, or more acurately, until Stephen Strange seeked him for his visions.





	The new Kassandra

**Author's Note:**

> **Ironstrange bingo** : Curse
> 
> I. honestly don't know how long this fic is going to be in the end. This is one of my extremely rare long projects ! So. I hope you will enjoy it ! :)

“Your bloodline will be my new Kassandra, Howard Stark. Mind plagued by visions and prophecies of what is to come. My mad prophets, that no one believes in, until your price is paid. And you will not believe them, you will not hear the truth. No one will.”

**xoxox**

Humans carried with them iron and salt, amulets with words of power, omamori with carefully folded papers. Humans carried prayers on their tongue and offerings in their hands ; altars dressed in street corners, in kitchens and bedrooms, and atop computers in a busy office. Gods and spirits were walking among them, breathing their magic into the world, and the veil between their worlds was thinner than a bride’s. And thus humans learnt to protect, to care and to worship, to carry words of power and to leave offerings, to learn of curses and blessings they shared, and to not involve themselves into the affairs of those larger than them. 

But not Tony Stark. He was walking along the edge, at home in the liminal spaces, between dog and wolf, at dusk and dawn. He was brilliant like the sun that burnt his soul and marked him as one of the fools that could fall at any moment. 

He was Apollo’s new Kassandra, and he swore to keep his mind his own. 

Tony Stark learnt early to keep silent. Any time he spoke of the future, he could hear the disbelief and anger coursing through his father. The sad smiles of Jarvis. The slight shake of the head of Rhodey and Pepper. Visions came and went, ebbing and flowing, and nothing kept them at bay. Not alcohol nor sex nor drugs nor sleep ; and the memory of crying on the phone, begging his mother not to leave, the shadow of death in her lovely voice, was the one that made him vow silence. 

(He only ever hated his father for his disbelief - Howard knew the words of Apollo, knew what his arrogance did to his son, and if he could not believe because of the curse, his anger and painful words were his and his only)

If no one believed him, he would no longer say. He would fight it, tooth and nails and scraped knuckles, and shoulder the words that people whispered about his fears and his pessimism. He was looking toward the future.

They couldn’t see that the future was breaking. 

**xoxox**

If there was one thing Tony loved about the coffee shop of that corner of a street of New York, it was that no one cared. No one cared about Tony Stark sitting in the corner, with his coffee and any kind of weird pastry they decided to sell that day, with his notes and his blueprints. The crowd was always moving and changing, a mix of humans and not-so-humans, and everyone understood they had their own life to take care of. Even the gods, he remembered, the flicker of the golden eyes and sorry smile of Saga coming to his mind. It had been one of the only time he saw one of _ them _ that was not there for him. 

(He was not one of Hers, and She did not stop him on his tracks, but he knew in Her eyes that his story was more than madness and sadness)

It was a strange place for him to be in, if it wasn’t for this liberating sense of being able to work in a crowd in peace. Nothing was hip and new, nothing was sleek and modern, and it had none of the creative mess of a garage or workshop either. It felt like someone inherited a thrift store and had to create a coherent decor out of it, and they both failed and accomplished the impossible. Not one table, one chair was the same as the others. 

Not one porcelain cup for drinking in the shop was the same as the others, either, he thought, his finger dancing along the faded edge of gold of the flowery mug he was drinking out of. 

\- Is this seat taken ?

He blinked, slowly. A man was standing above him, eyes of sea and glass, a thick scarlet scarf around his neck. He nodded with a shrug, and the man thanked him with a smile, and the words made a shiver run along his spine. It was rare to hear it out in public : you could never be sure that the person in front of you was a fae or a spirit who would take your words as a debt. Most humans and spirits prefered other ways to show their gratitude, even for the small gestures. And if everyone knew Tony Stark was human, habits were carved into the bones and brains of people, and “thank you” was an oddity.

But the man had nothing of the edge of gods. His hands were wrapped around the takeaway cardboard cup, tremors coursing along his fingers. A ridiculously nice strand of silver hair at his temples. No trace of glamour, that strange sparkle in the air he knew now to associate with the fae. 

The man turned his head toward him, eyes focusing on him. There was something about his attitude, as if he was trying to decide what could be his best course of action. As if he was ready to try and bargain for something that Tony was not ready to give. 

\- I have a question for you, Anthony Stark.    
\- Shoot. Don’t think calling me that impress me, though. It’s not like it’s all over the internet.   
\- Unlike a lot of your life. Gossip and bad paparazzi pictures over the truth, isn’t it ?

There was an appreciative sparkle in his eyes. Acidic honesty, another thing that was dangerous and hardly appreciated by many, but apparently pleasant to this stranger - and to himself. That he could agree with.  

\- What is it that you see coming for this city ?   
\- What  I ..? Hey. Ask that to someone working with the mayor.   
\- They are no prophets.

Ice ran down his veins. The man was calmly drinking his cup, without a shred of fear (weren’t prophets hated ?) or care (saying that shit in public ?). Acting as if he knew him and could come here and ask about one of the things that made his life so much harder than it should, no thanks to his father. 

\- Leave.

The man tilted his head down for a second, eyes closed, before raising it again, nodding and taking his cup with him. 

\- I am sorry for the inconvenience. The name is Stephen Strange. Vincent, somewhere in there.    
\- Casual about that.   
\- Am I ? I don’t think so, Stark. 

Before leaving, he turned, once more, to face him.

\- I am a son of Hekate, a sorcerer. And while I am no prophet, I always know the truth from lies.   
\- And ? You can make sparkles, so ?   
\- I can listen to you without the curse forcing me to think that you are lying, douchebag. 

**xoxox**

Tony relaxed on his chair, frowning slightly while checking the latest blueprints he had been working on. He knew there was something wrong in them, but he just could not find it. His mind refused to focus on anything but his meeting with Strange, a few days ago.  

He had so much more important to work on. He needed to be prepared for what was to come, not think about that man and his too pretty hair and his too pale eyes and… With a loud groan, he let his head fall on the back of his chair. “Douchebag” should  _ not  _ sound agreeable and he had work. to. do. Gauntlets to work on. Armors to engineer. Plans to make. 

Ready or not, it was coming. He was going to do everything in his power to protect his world. His sight was finally useful for something more than hurting himself before events happened. He knew this future was unstable and not yet fully written ; his eyes were not always covered in the thin sheen of blood, his lungs struggling in the scorching heat. They were not always the sacrificial beast brought to the altar of a devouring god, heads never bowed in submission… 

\- You seem worried, Pepper said, looking up at the holographic displays when she entered the workshop. Is this new project ?

He jumped out of his skin, remnants of the sensation of thick liquid falling on his face and burning his skin evaporating into nothingness. 

\- A… n… oh, yeah. Something like that.   
\- Are you okay ?   
\- Well, I could tell you the truth, but you would not believe me, since I am cursed since birth. 

Her smile wobbled a little, and he gave her his brightest one, trying to hide the undercurrent of pain under it. She didn’t deserve his bitterness. It was not her fault. Not anyone’s fault but Apollo’s and his father’s.

\- Sorry, sorry. I will tell you if I can about it. It’s just, well, complicated, Pep.    
\- Try me ?   
\- Someone came to me. He asked about my visions and what I have seen for the city. He says he can believe me but no one ever did and I just can’t trust like that ?

Her tight, thin smile was tired.

\- I… I see, Tony.    
\- See ? You don’t believe me.

He was proud of himself : there was no trace of bitterness in his voice and on his tongue. It was just… that. A simple truth. Pepper didn’t believe him, because no one ever believed him about the curse. It wasn’t _ just _ that no one believed when he told them about his visions. No one believed him when he told them he was cursed ; only his father had known, and it never helped in any way. 

He blinked slowly.

_ No one believed him. _

But Strange knew about the curse. 

\- You don’t but he already knows and… You know what ? Take the day, Pep, I have to go out anyway, just… rest, rest, take the day !    
\- Tony I can’t just.. !   
\- See you later ! Go eat in a nice restaurant ! Have fun !

**xoxox**

Tony sat down next to the man that called himself Stephen Strange, not waiting to see if he was okay with it or not. He fit well in the coffee shop. Out of place in time, in a bubble of weirdness, as if not affected by its flow. The man was older than he looked like, he knew it in his guts. But he had a hard time grasping him. He never  _ saw _ him before, unlike many, many others in his life. And someone coming and telling him he was resistant to his curse was clearly significant enough to be  _ seen _ . 

They sat together in a comfortable silence. Until Tony could no longer hold it and turned his head toward the other man, eyes half closed. 

\- So, is “son of Hekate” a metaphor, or is she your true mom ?   
\- Yes.

He waited for Strange to add something, but he sipped on his tea without saying anything else. His cup was etched with delicate swirls in orange and red, the porcelain so thin it let the light through. 

\- Are you trying to piss me off ?   
\- It is a metaphor because as a sorcerer, I am a son of Hekate. It is not a metaphor, because I am her son in blood. So yes. 

Tony let out a loud groan, rolling his eyes, especially seeing the satisfied smirk of the man. Demi-god. Whatever. On one hand, he appreciated the snarky answer, and he appreciated that Strange didn’t let himself get impressed by him. On the other hand, he was not really in the mood for this all. He hated magic, he hated divinity, he hated…

(He hated feeling comfortable with a stranger that was everything he couldn’t trust)

\- Are all sorcerers or demi-gods so annoying ?   
\- I have a reputation as being extremely good at annoying anyone.    
\- Clearly fairly gained.

Strange waved his hand with a flourish and lowered his head in a mockery of a bow. But seriousness soon showed again on his face, and he put back his cup on the table, his eyes focusing back on Tony’s.

\- I also understand what was put on your shoulders. Apollo’s words. I have to live with my own.    
\- Curse ?   
\- Curse, he answered, raising his trembling and scarred hands. 

He hadn’t noticed the lack of gloves, this time. Hadn’t noticed the scars running down the fingers, like lightning raised under the skin, but he remembered the way they shaked. An accident, he guessed, but was it truly an accident if it was by the will of a curse ? It was another one of those “magic and gods rules” kind of thing that he hated. Any human who pulled out that stuff would have been under the rule of the law. But the law was always changing. And gods had their own to follow. Under theirs, they could punish, maim and kill, ruin lives if they wanted. They had duties, he knew it, duties to the world, to humans, to spirits, a responsibility to hold their universe in their hands.

It didn’t mean that Tony had to like how the world was different if you were human, fae, divine, or anything else. 

\- Was it Hekate ?

Wouldn’t have it be something if his own mother punished him in a most violent way ? But Strange shaked his head, taking back his cup and cradling it in his palms. 

\- No. She was happy with the work I was doing. But I had proven too arrogant and provoked the wrath of Apollo.    
\- He sounds…   
\- I was fully at fault for provoking His wrath. You were not. But I know what it is to have a curse, even if it was my own fault.

A silent silence stretched between them. With a sign, Strange asked for a refill of tea, serenity not even slightly shaken on the outside. As if he accepted his fate. And maybe he did. Maybe it had been long ago. Maybe it was just because he was a demi-god. Ready to accept any awful decision a deity would take.

\- What happened ?    
\- I was an arrogant but talented surgeon, and a horrible person. I provoked Apollo by saying I did more for the world than his son ever did. He took my hands for my hybris. 

Tony locked his eyes on the long, trembling fingers. Oh, he could see them, digging into flesh and blood, bending organs and veins and nerves to his will, making miracles on the operating table. Delicate hands, fragile and so precious, that had the power to change lives ; Harsh cold smiles and an all-devouring pride that were all left in a empty heart. 

Yes, he could see it on the face of the softer man sitting next to him. 

(He could see himself in the fall and the harsh lessons in humility that were written in scars and blood.)

\- Don’t pity me. I’ve made my peace with it. And I do more to help people now than I did as a surgeon.

A spark traveled across his knuckles and he juggled with it with the tip of his fingers. Back and forth and back ; Strange followed it with his eyes, an undercurrent of wonder in his eyes, and it was too human for one who carried divinity in his body. Back and forth and back ; a glittering light that gave the sorcerer hope and made Tony wonder about how his life was going to change.

\- Can you imagine that Asclepius came to propose his help to me ? he said, half awed and half amused. He always was the better of the two of us.    
\- And you refused.   
\- It felt wrong. So I tried to deal with it on my own. 

He caught the spark and laid it on the table, in front of Tony. 

Well. He could make sparkles. And the whole story about knowing truth from lies… Maybe it was complete bullshit. But Strange knew he was cursed. 

\- The veil. Someone wants to crash it. Destroy it, rip it to shred, all that good stuff. It will just… fuck everything up, he said with a sigh, turning his eyes to his empty mug.   
\- What kind of absolute fool would dream to shred the veil ?    
\- You don’t beli…   
\- I believe you, Strange cut with a wave of his hand. But you have to admit it : the one who wish for this ? A fool and a complete asshole.

Tony couldn’t help but laugh, a wave of relief hitting him square in the chest. It was the first time he spoke of what he saw and someone said to him these words. 

\- It’s… so weird. To have someone believe me.

A grin slowly illuminated his face. 

\- Or should I say… strange ?

The exaggerated roll of the eyes he received was the best he had ever seen (especially since he could never see his own).


End file.
